Beneath the bleeding moon
by Fangirldown
Summary: She was raised with the Winchester boys after John killed her entire pack and spared only her as a child. As the 3 of them grow older feelings between her and Dean change, something John doesn't want due to the fact she is pure blood werewolf. So John does what he thinks is right, but he only does more harm than good.


Neaera stirred from her slumber, her eyes feeling as if someone had thrown sad in them from how dry and heavy they seemed. Glancing out her window she could see it was well into the night and a quarter moon played peek-a-boo with the clouds; wisps of soft moonlight reaching out to dance on her olive skin. She had awoken after hearing what she assumed was her father stumbling into the wall at the bottom of the stairs, he was after all a very clumsy man. She pulled her stuffed wolf from her bed sheets before exiting her room. Whenever she awoke like this it was her natural reaction to seek out one of her parents to put her back to bed. "Daddy?" she called down the steps, vaguely making out a figure that had come to a dead halt about midway up as she rubbed her eyes.

John froze, staring at the child who was completely illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the window she was standing next to, a child that was in his way, a child that couldn't have been more than 4 or 5, a child he may have to kill. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes barely open as he watched her struggle to keep upright when she was clearly falling asleep. "Go to bed, sweetie." he told her in a soft tone, her nose scrunching up at the sound of his voice while the hem of her baby blue night gown swayed along with her. Then she did something that made his heart ache; she reached her little arms out to him.

He was beginning to panic slightly, unsure of what to do in this kind of situation as he had never been in any like this before. It was a simple job, he told himself, kill the pack of werewolves close to the town and move on to the next. But could he really go through with killing a child that was around the same age as Sammy? A child that was presumably innocent in all this? After a moment's hesitation he did what any father would do; he quickly made his way up the stairs before she could open her eyes and plucked her from her spot at the top of the stairs. Tiny arms and legs wrapped around his torso, a messy head of dark brown ringlets brushed against his neck and cheek as she placed her own cheek on his shoulder.

His entire mission was now being jeopardized simply by his soft spot for children, werewolf or not. He tip toed as quiet and quick as he could, searching for any indication of a room that may be hers but also fearing stepping into the wrong one and being killed for trying to put their kid to bed before going on a murder spree of his own. No matter how he looked at it, this child was going to live because God knows he wouldn't if her blood was on his hands. He's killed many, many things but never a child. He finally came across a door that was open a fair amount, the crumpled sheets of the bed empty that prompted him to enter and place her down gently on it, tucking her in as she gave a small sigh and rolled over with her stuffed animal tucked tightly to her chest. Now for the easy part.

John was swift and silent, almost as if he was one with the shadows in the hallway as he crept towards where the rest of the pack was nestled and ready to be taken out. He pulled out his silenced pistol, gloved hand carefully twisting door handle after door handle as he made his way into the various upstairs room, putting silver bullets into the skulls of the 1-2 inhabitants that lie sleeping within, all in human form. He counted 6 in total, minus the little girl, varying between what he guessed were late teens to in their 30's. He felt guilty for leaving her without a family, she would surely die being so young without a pack, but on the other hand he probably just saved a lot more townsfolk from being slaughtered. So he had one more split decision to make; leave her to die….or take her with him.

John threw his duffle bag in the trunk before using his forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow. He glanced up at the quarter moon playing peek-a-boo behind the clouds, then down at the sleeping child wrapped in her blanket and tucked securely in his other arm; wisps of moonlight dancing across her olive skin.


End file.
